


Theda Bara

by sensitivebore



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:59:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sensitivebore/pseuds/sensitivebore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carson and Hughes, and a film.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theda Bara

"Oh,  _fine_ , be like that, I suppose. But I'm going. It's rare enough that we get out of this house."

Carson looks at her, frowns. She's putting on her gloves with a miffed expression, cranky now that he has refused to go along with the group. He wishes that she'd understand, that she'd see why he is refusing to go, instead of thinking he's just being difficult, dull, staid as usual. Elsie has been particularly insistent tonight, almost nagging, and he feels bad that he's making her unhappy but —

He does want to go to the pictures with them tonight, just not like this. Not because she thinks they should chaperon Ivy and Daisy and Alfred and Jimmy, not because the young ones need a flinty eye and a parental presence to make sure the boys are courteous, chivalrous, and don't try to take any liberties. Not because the girls need watching to see that they don't start that high-pitched giggling and flirting that occasionally happens when left to their own devices.

He wants to go, yes, but he wants to escort her properly, a gentleman with a lady. Wants to walk arm-in-arm to the theatre and pay her way and buy her sweets. Wants to maybe hold her hand in the dark hushed screening room, just for a minute. He would like to take a liberty. Or three. Carson looks down at his desk, clears his throat.

But that's not how they are, or what they are, and she's certainly shown no interest for any of that. Just told him that they should take the time to do this because there are emotions brewing among that particular set of youngsters that could be problematic and it would be a good chance to see what exactly is going on, to gauge who feels what for who and how far anything has gotten and if they'll need to step in and put a stop to any of it. Not a word about going with  _her_. Just going with  _them_.

_Sod it._

He stands suddenly and snatches his overcoat from the coat rack. She looks up in surprise from where she's rummaging in her handbag, most likely for her ticket money, and smiles a hesitant little smile.

"Changed your mind by any chance?"

He has.

An hour later, they're sitting in the darkened theater side by side watching a half-nude, in his opinion, Theda Bara slink and growl across the screen as a pirate queen, scimitar held between her teeth, dark eyes flashing. He's fairly sure that this is completely inappropriate for the younger ones, but it's what they had chosen and she had told him on their walk there that she suspected it might such. He's not scandalized, far from it; he had seen women in far greater states of undress during his own time in the dance halls, but there is something undeniably erotic about watching this with her. Watching this sinuous woman weave in front of their eyes while they are shoulder to shoulder, while his head is filled with her lovely scent and if he glances from the corner of his eye, he can see her pretty face in delighted profile.

Carson feels oddly peaceful, content. He had paid her way, after all, had simply bought the tickets and ignored her protest, but had not ignored her shy murmur of thanks. Had most certainly not ignored the way her slender fingers had hesitantly crept into the space between his arm and his side, had automatically bent his elbow to catch them there in a warm snug fit.

There is a tiny crinkle of paper and the sound makes him happy. Alfred had bought Ivy peppermint sweets and Jimmy — after being shot a furious glare by Carson — had grudgingly paid for Daisy's colorful mix of jellies.

He bought Elsie sugarplums.

Luxurious as they already were with honey and fruit and nuts all made into the little round confections, these have been dipped in chocolate and allowed to dry into a thin shell around all of that richness. Exorbitantly posh, brand new in the world of candy from what the usher said, he had seen her exclaiming over them with Daisy as they browsed through the concessions, heard them both groan over the price.

Quietly, he had purchased a little packet of them as they were shown to their seats. They had also agreed that they'd sit away from the others, let them enjoy the show without feeling under lock and key. Before the lights were dropped, the usher delivered the pretty box to her and she had blinked, started to say there was some mistake until Carson put a shilling in the boy's hand and thanked him.

Surprisingly, she hadn't scolded him for the expense, hadn't mouthed any of the little protests he was expecting. With red cheeks and very bright eyes, she had just tucked the packet into her handbag, thanked him, told him they'd save them for home and have them with tea. Carson had nodded, biting back a grin; he'd be willing to wager how long she'd last before trying to sneak one out and it had been — he counts for a moment — approximately seven minutes? Eight?

He has taken liberties tonight. He knows. He wonders if one more would be pushing his luck, if one more small liberty would break the bank.

Gently, slowly, he moves his right hand until it covers her left, sitting as it is there on the armrest. It looks lonely, he thinks, not warm enough. He touches her hand only with his fingertips at first, gives her every chance to pull away, to push him back, to toy with her handbag or her sleeve or any other multitude of excuses she could use to move her hand.

She doesn't.

Carefully, delicately, he lets his hand relax until it is pressed warmly there over her own and he focuses on the film again. Watches Theda do battle with another piratess in filmy clothing, watches shirtless men swash-buckle and strut. The times passes and he is happier than he has been in a very long time.

Her fingers move slowly, turning, sliding with the most fragile of motions, so slowly that he almost can't feel it but he can. He doesn't move, allows her to do whatever she will. She can easily pull her hand from under his if she likes, but he won't encourage her to. The soft nuzzle of her fingers is sweet, tender, and her hand has turned now fully and their palms are pressed together.

One by one, over the course of the film, her fingers thread between his. Eventually together they make a pretty interlaced thing —  _here is the church, here is the steeple_ — that holds a world of unspoken love inside it.

Her hand is firmly tangled with his and he paid her way and escorted her in and she smells of chocolate and honey and fruit that he bought her and now, in the dark, he can feel her smile.


End file.
